What started as a 2 year span recording project in his bedroom, Nelson Antonio Espinal finds himself looking at the world through a Stuyedeyed point of view. Coming out of Bed-Stuy, the Brooklyn neighborhood where Nelson spent a majority of his youth, he and the band realized the idea of the “scene” they were a part of and it’s ringleaders didn’t represent what they were feeling and what they stood for. Most of those cats can’t grasp the idea of what hood dreams are. What it means to really get out.
While everyone is talking the same shit, drinking the same drink, and wearing the same thing, no one is advocating for anything other than a good time. And that shit doesn’t sit well with 4 punks trying to speak to something real.
Don’t over romanticize a meaning behind the name. A Stuyedeyed point of view is simple: you’re looking up from the bottom.
Most of Stuyedeyed’s music can be traced to a specific moment, a real experience. A way to catalogue the existence of a group of people who can’t seem to find their home, therefore making their home in each experience they care to hold onto. A band who finds themselves holding onto more and more as time goes by, valuing real interactions. There’s enough disappointment, anger, love, compassion, and division to dive into if you’re paying attention. They find they’re not too picky, soaking in and filtering through all life’s white noise.
The Stuyedeyed live performance is an aggressive, yet welcome, slap in the face, waking you up from the hamster wheel of the mundane. If only for a moment, you will feel alive.
The tools and affirmation to create this come from artists the band undeniably loves and respects. Bands like King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Ron Gallo, Ty Segall, Father John Misty, Devandra Banhart, Fela Kuti, Creepoid, everything Fania, and all things Daptone. The list could go on and on but the point remains that no matter the style of music, writing and performing from a genuine place will shine through. Artists like these give Stuyedeyed the tools to create songs the way they do.
Our news is satirical. Politics, absurd. Fake jobs disguised as meaning and purpose. Fake friendships to attain fake goals. Networking over crafted cocktails with garnishes imported from countries they don’t give a fuck about in a noisy, sweaty room full of self-important people. Humor is a beautiful thing but it’s become our drug. Reality, REAL reality, has become so heavy that we’d prefer not to feel at all. We’re numb with self-importance. But you know what? FUCK IT.
Everything is a joke and we’re mad about it.
This is Stuyedeyed.